


Orientation

by wickedrum



Category: Scandal (TV)
Genre: Emetophilia, F/M, Hangover, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-07 03:21:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17952668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedrum/pseuds/wickedrum
Summary: Fitz came as close to he could ever get to marrying Olivia, but now he’s aimless. Somewhere in Season 5.





	1. The Conventions of Transit

**Author's Note:**

> I have a long list of fics I may or may not get round to complete. I stayed clear from this one for a while because of the general disgust that characterises people’s current attitudes towards the president of the United States and pretty much the whole administration. But let’s just keep in mind that this one here is idealised fiction with our dear Fitz and that the more time it passes between Scandal’s end, the less I remember so I guess I have to deal with this now, or never.  
> Disclaimers: I barely own my knickers. When I am writing, it's mainly for my own pleasure. It's what I'd like to see happen so when I reread in a few months, oftentimes years later, I find a story that is completely to my taste. :D  
> Genre: hurt/comfort, emeto   
> Rating/Warning: none unless you have emetophobia   
> Pairing: canon, Olitz, Mellie/Fitz, Fitz/Abby. Basically the women in his life caring for him.

Chapter 1: The Conventions of Transit

 

Chief of Staff Abby Whelan picked up her supposed schedule for the day, hoping to be able to select which of the planned visitors to the White House she needed more information on before her aide came in, but that objective was delayed when Agent Sam slid in the door that didn’t even have the chance to sling closed yet behind her, “he slept in the Oval,” the security detail announced, typically without leading with anything or as much as a greeting as it was the way in the building to get to the point as quickly as possible. 

“Alone?” Abby was somewhat alarmed. Although she had managed to reign in the president’s eligible bachelor type digressions for the most part, Fitz had the tendency to surprise her on a regular basis. 

“Yes.”

“Good. Then why are you telling me this,” she got busy with her laptop, relatively disinterested now. 

“He threw up on the couch and the carpet.”

“In the Oval.” It was a bit of a no-no indeed. “Cleanable? Replaceable?”

“I assume so.”

“Drunk?” Abby was already adding to her mental list of what she needed sorted in regards to Fitz and the drinking had already been on her mind anyway. 

“We moved him to the residence,” Sam nodded, “but the hangover seems to be worse than usual. I don’t think we can get him to the morning meetings.”

“Ah.” So that’s why she was notified. “I can delay things till 10 but his 10.30 is pretty important. You’ve got 3 hours,” Abby considered the conversation over with, but Sam did not budge. “What is it?” She took the man’s still tense stance into consideration after a moment. 

“You are his work-wife. You need to come see him.”

“I’m busy. Now even busier than before. Let him sleep a little, sober him up. Then come and get me.”

“And if he needs a doctor?”

Abby did scrutinise her conversation partner at that, “you think he needs a doctor. For a hangover.” Her forehead creased in alarm.

“He hasn’t been very coherent apart from saying that his stomach hurts. I just didn’t want to go ahead with getting a physician here without your go-ahead. It’s not quite that pressing, I thought you should decide.”

“We already have a procedure in place for any medical personnel who might attend the president, above their own requirements for confidentiality,” Abby started, already knowing Sam would still be standing there when she was finished. Best things to do was just to go and follow the man.

 

Tbc


	2. Those Katzenjammers

Chapter 2: Those Katzenjammers

 

Given the lead-up, it didn’t come completely as a surprise to Abby to find her boss in bed, on his side and hanging off the edge over a paper-waste bucket someone must’ve thought was a good idea to use. So it’s not that she didn’t expect to come across this sight, but she did not expect how out of it he seemed, focussed on nothing but the receptacle containing only green bile now that he had nothing else to expel. "Are we sure it's just a hangover," she dared to approach closer, though the smell and Fitz's apparently sweat soaked shirt stopped her from touching him, "why's he shaking like that."

 

"We considered poison," Sam assured her, "and checked every avenue feasible. It doesn't seem to be possible, and that coupled with the amount of whisky missing from the Oval.."

 

"I don't care. Get a doctor here now."

 

"Muhm," Fitz tried to raise himself on an elbow at that one, "probably not the best idea," he took deep breaths through his nose to try to ease the nausea, but since his stomach contents were previously leaving through any orifice they could find, breathing in deeply only made him feel more sick given the smell coming from the inside of his nose. 

 

"And how else would you like me to get you presentable," Abby snapped. 

 

"Can you cover that so I can't smell it," he nodded in the basket's direction.

 

Abby looked horrified, but since Sam was away calling for help, she eventually forced herself to pick up last night's paper and place it over the waste paper basket, making every effort to avoid a glance at the contents. "It isn't in my job description you know."

 

"Your job is to protect the interests of the president, is it not," Fitz settled back into his pillows, hoping the White House would stop spinning as a result. He felt like a rag just having been pulled out a washing machine cycle, and trembling with the cold one second, radiating heat the next. Cleaning the sweat off his face with his sleeves, he wished only to be able to sleep and nothing else at this point. Or maybe also to avoid the trouble he was going to be with Abby for this, the Chief of Staff who had been determined to keep him on the straight and narrow for the finish line of his presidency. He was in no condition to argue with her for starters. 

 

"Are you finished vomiting?" Abby looked at him with a cautious and suspicious stance. 

 

"I don't know," Fitz frowned. He wanted everyone and everything just to go away, he did not have the energy to deal with anything right now. 

 

"Seriously dammit, if it gets out that the president suffered alcohol poisoning, I don't know what I'm going to do with you. It’s my responsibility because what happens to you happens to me. Nice history making there, Fitz."

 

"Seriously, I thought you knew how to handle everything," the leader of the country attempted humour to disarm the feisty red, but ended up gasping at the cramp that seized his belly and he quickly clenched his teeth to take control over his own reactions. 

 

"I’m good at my job, you have no idea how good, but this shouldn’t be part of my job. Why are you feeling so bad, Mr. President?" Abby looked at him matter of factly, without an iota of sympathy in sight. 

 

"I overdid it, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear?" Fitz's breathing sounded pained and he only managed a whisper. 

 

"Can you get it together?" The Chief of Staff demanded, “for me?”

 

Fitz sighed, "maybe with some help."

 

"The doctor will be here in a minute. Come on, sit higher, I can't deal with you choking if you throw up again."

 

The leader of the free world groaned, but listened to her automatically and pulled himself higher, "not the doctor."

 

"Want it or not, he's coming, it’s done," the redhead settled the matter, not considering his whimper as any kind of serious objection that could be taken into account, "come on, you need to calm down," she frowned at the amount of shaking and tense curling up he was doing, "it cannot be that bad or you wouldn't refuse the doctor."

 

He had to take some steadying breaths before stating, "he will recommend some sedatives and we both know I can't have those."

 

Abby was not happy, not at all, "alright. Doctor's coming, but I've got another idea too," she marched out to execute the Popeing plan.

 

Tbc


	3. Out of the Pan

Chapter 3: Out of the Pan

 

Olivia Pope met up with Sam with raised eyebrows. He was to escort her to the residence as discreetly as possible and she had to chuckle internally at that. The number of times she had been there, lived there, but every time she wasn't officially part of the administration, she had to go through all this procedure. Abby, conversely with clearance, joined her for a brief moment on route, "do what you do best Liv. I can't get through to him and I really need some help here. This 24/7 drinking has got to stop or everything will go to hell."

 

The consulting firm owner regarded her friend with curiosity. Abby didn't look like she was panicking no, she never would, not really but she did look like someone who was worried, maybe concerned. "That bad, huh?" A nagging cluster of apprehension touched Olivia's chest as well, "do we know the cause? Or am I here because he is blaming me?"

 

"That is not why you're here," Abby was quite glad they could settle that, "you're here because keeping being good at my job requires me to call in the last resort," she nodded at her friend encouragingly as Liv stepped into the elevator. 

 

"So how is he?" Olivia engaged the Secret Service agent after the doors closed. 

 

"Right now, he's on an i.v for rehydration and something to quell the nausea and the cramps. Physically, he'll probably be ready soon."

 

"Huh." The ex-mistress didn't quite expect Fitz to be so badly off to be needing all that. The view once she entered and was left alone with her on and off lover was even less encouraging and Olivia didn't quite understand how he could look even worse than that time when Cyrus asked her to talk Fitz down from making a public speech right after being shot, and now he was paler too. The president had both hands wrapped around his stomach, attempting something like a self-massage. "Let me do that for you," Olivia offered on instinct, though she had no idea whether it could prove helpful or not. 

 

"They've called you," Fitz sulked, "came to yell at me?" He would have rolled his eyes too if he didn't think that would set off another bout of vomiting. Withall, he moved a hand away from his belly, leaving her room to touch him. 

 

"It's always a thrilling prospect I can't quite give a miss," Olivia admitted, instinctually reaching out to soothe the body part affecting him. Angry or not, it was hard to see him unwell. "Jesus, your belly's so tense. Did the doctor examine you properly?" It was her worry that came out first.

 

Fitz raised an eyebrow, "you mean the doctor held accountable for the health of the Leader of the free world? You want to tell him what he has to do too?"

 

"Yes, I might. They don’t get off so easily. I have no idea if you're being properly looked after, not without Mellie being here."

 

"I have people, thank you," Fitz sulked. 

 

"Not like Mellie. She wouldn't let you go too far out of hand."

 

The president did roll his eyes this time, "you and Mellie, always singing each other's praises, not just around my back but now to my face too. Yet all she did was drink in here and I'm not allowed to?"

 

"Why do you argue with me when you know I'm always right, no matter what," Olivia felt the need to stroke his offending belly, "you can't want this, being so reckless with alcohol."

 

"It hurts, do you understand?" Fitz pushed her hand away. While his insides were doing cartwheels, he wasn't sure himself if he'd meant it more emotionally than anything else. 

 

"I'm worried about you," the brunette regarded him with apprehension, "trust me, you don't want people seeing you like this. Not even in-House."

 

"Half an hour. I need half an hour of sleep and I will be up serving whatever part of the country you need me to. You don't want to be here, then don't be. I didn’t ask for Olivia Pope. There's no need," the president curled up a little more and made a point to closing his eyes. He couldn't deal with a self-righteous Olivia, not now. 

 

“Good to see you then. Goodbye Fitz,” the crisis manager turned on her heels displeased, just as fed up with their nowadays usually fruitless dance as he was. 

 

tbc


	4. The Other Half

Chapter 4: The Other Half 

 

Special Agent Sam seemed a bit taken aback when confronted with presidential candidate Melody Grant strolling up towards the residence as naturally if she had still been living there, son in tow. “M’am! I would advise against that,” he looked at the child, “especially with Teddy.”

 

“Don’t tell me Fitz has got someone in his bed in the middle of the work day!” Mellie wasn’t expecting that as it was even more below normal standards than before. 

 

“No, Senator Grant. The President is indisposed.”

 

“Indisposed? What is that the code for now. Excuse me, I’ve been out of the building too long to know these things for sure, you know?”

 

“I am not authorised to tell you any more, Senator, I’m sorry.”

 

“Well, can you hold Teddy’s hand till someone takes him over to the nursery?” Mellie had every intention of finding out what was up because the unusual state of matters indicated that she might be best knowing. 

 

“Of course, M’am,” Sam went down to the child’s level to talk to him.

 

A few steps down, Mellie flung open the door, ready for an outburst for whatever her ex-husband was up to, ready for anything bar the view in front of her. Fitz hooked up to an intravenous fluid stand, pale and groaning with every breath. “Damn. What’s wrong?”

 

“Mellie!” The man supposed to have been the most powerful man in the country seemed startled, shaky and somewhat flustered, “how come your clearance has still not been revoked yet!” 

 

“It’s because I made sure the backdoor our shared custody over the children opened remained that way.” She narrowed her eyes, “don’t worry, I wouldn’t tell anyone, are you sick?”

 

“How is that any of your business.”

 

“The President’s health is everybody’s business, more so if said president is my children’s father.”

 

“I’m not sick. I just needed a quick pickme-up.”

 

Mellie stared for a while, contemplating, looking around the room till she put it together and started laughing, “you can’t hold your drink. I’m not surprised, you didn’t grow up on hooch.” 

 

“What do you want, Mellie?” Fitz was a little bit even more irritable than usual.

 

His ex-wife shook her head and stepped closer, “just like that time after Karen was born. This is not a new low for you. Remember when I had just given birth but it was you I had to look after. Your stomach’s too delicate for all this scotch Fitz, you should take that into account when you go off acting foolish.”

 

The hungover man sighed. It’s not that the criticism wasn’t there, but it was well familiar and he knew it came hand in hand with comfort as proxy and go-between, comfort that he so acutely was in need of. “What else can I do, Mellie?”

 

“Is this about Olivia?” The Senator was somewhat amused, “can you maybe explain to me one day how you can be so whipped for one woman? I’m out, I’ve been out of this triangulation game for quite a while and can well take the bystander’s perspective, but you, you also really have to stop doing this to yourself. It makes you look so pathetic. You need to deal with it.”

 

“I am a failure as a father and as a husband and as a man, and probably an addict,” Fitz was depressed enough not to disagree with her. 

 

“But maybe not as a President,” Mellie Grant imparted, something mellow tugging at her chest. She swallowed, trying to regulate the feeling. She wasn’t about to take pity on him regardless of his extreme behaviour, or was she. “Fitz, you really need to learn to stand on your own two feet without a woman holding you up from the back, you know that?” Despite herself, she was already sitting on the bed, giving his knee an encouraging squeeze. 

 

“I tried to find the hooch,” he let her know randomly, “but I think Olivia finished it all.”

 

“Olivia drank my hooch?” Mellie had another thing to find amusing, “why am I not surprised.”

 

“But we can still have a drink together. We should. We hardly ever did. It was either always you drunk or me, alternatively.”

 

“Not today, Fitz,” Mellie’s inclination to honour his pity party was complete, “let’s just get you comfortable for now.” There was only a moment’s hesitation till she reached out to rub the upper part of his stomach just under the ribcage, a gentle kneading that quickly turned into a massage that covered a larger area as soon as he leaned into her touch with a moan. Words were not needed as the exchange was one they’ve repeated many-many times, with Mellie knowing how to ease his stomach aches more than any medicine ever could, “better?”

 

“Don’t stop, the cramps will come back,” he moaned. 

 

“I’m bigger than that, you know, being just your personal fluffer. Our co-dependency is over.” She felt enough pity and inclination however not to stop the gentle rubbing circles. 

 

“Just a few more moments Mellie. Please.”

 

She gave a little chuckle, “I will. It’s a good break from only hearing you talk about how great you are.”

 

“You all left me. I don’t feel so great.”

 

“You’ll be okay Fitz, I don’t expect anything less. You think it's going to break you, but it won't. You don’t need me to be okay, just like I don’t need you. It will be fine, you just have to get used to it. Maybe not even now. Cause today, you have to play President. Can you do that?”

 

“I don’t know. Maybe not today.”

 

“Well, guess what. Today you have the power to do that. There’s no crisis situation I know of, not at the moment. The President is allowed to take a sick day if necessary. It’s not much different than a vacation day. In fact you can call it that to avoid too much attention.”

 

“That’s unheard of. It would send the wrong message.”

 

“I’m sure Abby can come up with a reason that isn’t drastic. Just relax.”

 

“Will you speak to her.”

 

“If you want me to.”

 

“Thank you, Mellie,” he scooted marginally closer to her touch, counting more in the head than it would actually benefit him physically, “I miss you, you know.”

 

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it.” Yet Mellie’s touch became even more considerate at the admission. “Don’t worry, you can divorce me, but you can’t get rid of me. I demand what’s supposed to be mine.”

 

“Ah, that. You have my full support.”

 

“Will you be willing to say that in public?”

 

“Funny thing is, I believe you would be a great candidate. You can handle it all, I’ve seen it.”

 

“Especially depression and alcohol,” Mellie shook her head at him, “trick is to know your limitations.”

 

“I want the day off,” Fitz decided, “just one and then I will be ready to face anything that may come my way.”

 

“That’s the spirit,” the Senator of Virginia gave him one of her soft-hearted smiles. Some days she wanted him to hurt and suffer, but when it came right down to it, she had a hard time watching it happen.

 

“Will you stay? Today I mean.”

 

Independent or not, Mellie couldn’t disregard his torment. Their new pact was not to hurt each other and they had been keeping to it pretty well lately. “I have a few hours, Fitz. Now sleep, okay?”

 

“Okay.” He was too exhausted to argue, or even think and closed his eyes, falling asleep within a few breaths with startling familiarity. 

 

Mellie leaned back with a mischievous, contemplative smile, “I’d bet I can still find some hooch around here, right in this room.” Not that she needed it, not anymore.

 

The End.


End file.
